


Once Upon a Time in Dust Town

by jillyfae



Series: By Stone and Shield [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempted Rape, Backstory, Dust Town, F/M, Orzammar, Politics, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oghren provokes Ingva Brosca into sharing some memories of Orzammar. 'Cause politics, violence, and sex, make for wonderful bed-time stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time in Dust Town

"Balls of granite, you've got, Templar."

"What?!?" Alistair looked up at Oghren in horror, desperately hoping some other Templar had somehow wandered by the campsite _completely avoiding the qunari and the golem on guard?_ and caught the dwarf's attention.

"Romancing the Scabbler, there."

"Really, Alistair, Scabbler?" Zevran's silken voice joined in with delight. "That is so … cosmopolitan of you. I didn't think you had it in you. I suppose for Fereldans, though, that might be thought provincial. You and your dogs, after all."

"The Mabari?" Alistair squeaked. He admitted it. He'd been expecting another attack on his supposed prowess for bedding their fearless leader, not that it was anyone else's business but his and Ingva's, thank you very much, and had no idea how the dog got involved with that. It seemed a bit extreme even for Oghren. _Not Zevran though._

He shot one desperate glance across the clearing, relieved to discover the creepy Witch was, once again, far off by herself reading the book Ingva had agreed to kill her even creepier mother to get, and he didn't have to worry about her adding to an already awkward conversation.

"She named her dog Scabbler?" Oghren's hearty laugh echoed across the campfire, as Alistair looked over at Ingva in confusion. Which got even worse as he noticed she was scowling uncomfortably, one hand wrapped tightly around the dog's collar. _Ingva, embarrassed? She doesn't get embarrassed, she gets mad and hits things. What, by Andraste's Flaming Sword, is Oghren going on about?_

"Yes, she named the dog Scabbler." Leliana's lilting voice chimed in as she glanced from the amused dwarf to the nervous one, over to the bewildered human and the grinning elf, and back around the campfire again, obviously wanting to hear a story to explain it all. "She said it was a mining tool, used to break up stones. Said she'd seen him do the same thing to darkspawn."

Oghren's laugh had dropped down to a chuckle as he shook his head in some sort of bemused disbelief. "She never told you? Really? Such a good story. Think she'd be proud. I'd be proud, Scabbler!" The last bit was shouted gleefully at his fellow dwarf.

The mabari lifted his head from where he rested by Ingva's feet and barked once at Oghren, as if reminding him to stop getting his master's name confused with his own, before settling back down with a comfortable huff.

"Told us what?" Alistair tried not to whine at Oghren. _Ingva would've told me if it was important, right? She wouldn't be keeping things from me, not after I told her about Maric, and Eamon, and Goldanna? Would she?_

"Oh, screw the Ancestor's sideways, I knew I shoulda left you in Orzammar." Ingva's voice was oddly strangled sounding, and she was blushing a red almost as dark as her sister's hai r. "Just spit it out already, Oghren." She stared stubbornly down at the head of the dog she was petting, refusing to look at anyone in the circle around her.

Alistair's nerves were practically shooting sparks through him now, and he started to get up to go sit next to Ingva, but Leliana put a hand to his shoulder and shook her head. _Wait,_ she seemed to be saying, and he settled uncomfortably back on the ground to do just that, keeping an eye on his beloved across the campfire.

"You're no fun." Oghren's volatile mood had swung to sulky. "Never thought the Scabbler'd be so embarrassed by her own fame."

"She's famous?" Leliana sounded delighted, but Alistair could feel his body tensing in unpleasant anticipation. _This sounds important._

"In Orzammar, she is. Surprised she didn't introduce herself properly to all those arrogant noble arses she had to deal with." Oghren took a swig from his ever-present drink and be lched contentedly. "Mighta eased things along."

"Eased?" Ingva squawked, lifting her head to glare at Oghren. _Thank the Maker, she's getting mad. I can handle her mad. I like her mad._ "They woulda lynched me!"

"Nah, the nobles were all rather pleased you stopped the short-witted rock-licker from playin' his nasty games. Never coulda admitted it to a duster, but a Grey Warden? You must be a little proud of yourself, Brosca, or you never woulda named the mutt Scabbler, now wouldya?"

"Well, course," she muttered, and shrugged her shoulders, but Alistair saw the hint of the evil smile that tended to appear after she'd smacked someone particularly stupid around, and felt his muscles relax. _That's my girl. Wonder who she broke into well-deserved little pieces?_ "Doesn't mean I ever thought anyone else was proud. Beraht managed to add us to his own reputation, but I always figured someone'd come after me for it even tually."

"Would one of you please just start at the beginning?" Leliana's plaintive voice interrupted. Alistair smiled slightly to himself to realize their roles had been reversed, Leliana dying for answers while he was content now to sit back and enjoy the story.

"Well, Rica was always the pretty one, even when we were young," Ingva paused as almost identical snorts of derision came from both Alistair and Zevran. The two shared a rare moment of companionship, glancing at each other in amusement. _Silly woman has no idea how glorious she is, does she?_

"Um," Ingva continued, uncomfortably ignoring their attention, "Beraht was hoping she'd turn out well, so the various smaller cartas left us alone to avoid getting on his bad side. Had to avoid the slummers though, as they were too stupid to know who was who in Dust Town."

"Common problem with nobles." Oghren nodded seriously. "Don't have the sense the Stone bred into nugs."

"Schmooples is very smart!" Leliana interrupted indignantly. "What?" she asked, as the entire group stared at her.

"Um," Ingva paused for a moment, as if the thought of a smart Schmooples had caused a mental rockslide, and nothing else could get through the rubble.

"Slummers," Zevran prompted helpfully. "The eternal, predictable stupidity of the arrogant and bored."

"Right." She shook her head briskly, making her ponytail bounce.

_Hmm, her hair would make such a nice handle … wait, no, listening to story-time. Right. Bad Alistair. Bad, bad, lovely Ingva. Stop. Wrong way again._

"There was this particular son-of-a-bronto we'd seen a few times around Dust Town, but no one was quite sure what he was looking for. He seemed too stupid to worry about, prancing around all alone, his coin pouch dangling right off his belt in full view. And his clothes! Not a metal hook or gem on them, all surface cloth, with wooden buttons. Wood!"

Zevran and Leliana shared a slightly bemused glance, before Alistair reminded them helpfully, "no trees underground".

Oghren shuddered theatrically. "How you surfacers go about, ignoring all these nasty trees, I'll never understand. They move when you're not watching. They whisper when the air moves by. Don't stand still like proper Stone."

"Stone in Dust Town moves when you're not watching." Ingva's voice was bitter. "Cave-ins, collapsing buildings. No one cares if the walls fall on a bunch of dusters. Only time something gets repaired is if it catches someone else in the rock-slide."

"And this particular someone else?" Leliana prompted again, impatient for the actual story.

"Right. Rock-licker. Strolled into our house, calm as you please, taking off his gloves and smiling at us. Like we were stupid enough to fall for that. Told me 'n' Leske to be good little children and leave the grown-ups alone for the afternoon. Which apparently meant Rica, as Ma was out. Gotten her hands on some coin, went to get a proper drink rather than the lichen-ale she usually stole from the neighbors."

"Aaaah," Zevran sighed, his eyes bright and hard. "Convenient timing, your mother's windfall, yes?"

Ingva glared at him, her mouth and eyebrows tight, her shrug slight and noncommittal. "Probably. Never asked where she got it. Didn't want to know. Not as if we had anywhere else to go if she had… well. You know."

 _If she had, what?_ Alistair tried not to scowl, not to follow that thought through to its nasty conclusion. _Their own mother? For a drink?_

"Bah, you don't know how to tell a story, Brosca!" Oghren interrupted the tense silence as everyone tried not to voice an opinion of Kalah Brosca out loud. "You told me to spit it out, and here you are, dancing around the tale like you're ashamed! You're the only one comes out well in it, ya know."

"You don't like how I remember things, you tell it then, ya drunken lout." Ingva scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"My pleasure." Oghren took another swig, before leaning back. "Thing you gotta know, is, rock-licker wasn't any old merchant or baby-noble slummer, but a cousin of the Aeducan's themselves, with a chest full of secrets. Everyone knew that he liked unwilling girlies, but he was too good at the politics to call out on it. So they just kept their daughters away from him."

"Didn't bother keepin' him away from no one else." Ingva muttered balefully.

Oghren shrugged. "Them, worry 'bout somethin' past their own doorway? Nah. Why no one'd help me find Branka either. Lazy buggers. Serve 'em all right when the darkspawn finally overwhelm Orzammar. Only a matter o'time."

The latest grim silence was broken by Wynne's approach out of the darkness as s he settled down to sit next to their young leader. "How old were you and Rica, Ingva?"

"Dunno," Ingva shrugged, apparently unsurprised the mage had abandoned her potion making to join them. "Not sure how old I am now. Not like Ma told us our birthdays, or kept track of the days, or anything."

"You don't? You poor …" Leliana started, before Zevran kicked her foot from his perch on a nearby stone. "What?" She turned to the elf, an indignant look on her face, but he successfully stared her into silence.

"Hmm," Wynne refrained from commenting. "About how long ago, then?"

Ingva shifted again, more noticeably, and peered at Wynne past the loose strands of hair that always fell out of her ponytail. "Why's it matter? Over and done with. Rica got herself into a Noble House, I'm a Grey Warden 'stead of a duster, we're both fine now."

"Would you begrudge an old lady her curiosity?"

"Course not. Stone only knows though. It's hard to keep track of years in Dust Town. Maybe ten?"

Alistair's hands tightened into fists at his sides. _Ten?!? She can't be past twenty, now, so she was what, nine, ten? And Rica's not much older. That scum was after an eleven or twelve year old girl?_ Restless with a simmering rage much too late to be useful, he stood up and started pacing around the campfire, trying desperately not to snarl and hit something. He vaguely noticed Leliana shifting, lightly fingering the strap that usually held her quiver, and Zevran's lip curling in an impressively nasty smirk. Even Wynne was tense as he stalked by, her head raised as she looked down her nose at nothing in particular, apparently wishing there were some handy dwarven targets to capture in a Crushing Prison.

Ingva stared uncomfortably up at the sky as she continued, apparently finding it easier to deal with the stars than her companions' emotions on her behalf. "So, Leske ran, but I didn't wanna leave Rica alone with the nug-humper. Grabbed Ma's hammer, and told him to get out." She sighed, almost nostalgically. "The only thing Ma wouldn't sell. Told me my father fought with it. Rica thought Grandpa stole it though, and Ma told Leske, right after she slapped him for daring to try and touch it, that her brother made it 'fore he died. Actually kept it up on the wall, like it was a trophy, something pretty-like, rather than an old dirty hammer with a cracked handle."

Alistair couldn't resist the mental image of a tiny little Ingva, brandishing a hammer at a monster; the rush of pride he felt for her washing the anger down somewhere deep, where he could ignore it for the time being. He stepped carefully around the Mabari's bulk and settled down next to her on her log, opposite Wynne, gently tugging until her fingers tangled around his own.

She didn't look at him, but her hand clenched tightly on his at the s ame moment her shoulders relaxed, her gaze dropping back down to the group. "Stone-cursed idiot just laughed at me, said I wasn't his type, but he'd let me watch, if I wanted." She spat into the flames in disgust. "Backhanded me, then turned away, smiling. Smiling at Rica, as if she'd invited him in, even when she grabbed half a brick and chucked it at his head. He just laughed and gave her a good smack too." She snorted. "Didn't hit as hard as Ma, though, so it's not like either of us stayed down. He just kept following Rica as she scrambled backwards across the floor, distracting him as she looked for something else to throw. Didn't even turn 'round as I caught up." She paused, a nasty smile hovering around her lips at the memory. "Finally scuffed my foot so he'd hear me. Looked back, not even upset, convinced he could just give me another hit and get back to his fun. Swung that hammer as hard as I could right up between his legs. Broke the handle completely. He fell to the floor almost faster than the hammer head, gasping and retching and turning red, all curled up 'round himself."

Leliana's beautiful laugh had an edge almost as vicious as Ingva's smile had been, and was followed by Zevran's slow applause. "Brava, dear Ingva, brava."

Ingva flashed a quick glance at Alistair, her eyes wide, her hand still tight around his. _That wasn't the hard part of the story, was it?_ He leaned in close, whispering in her ear, "you can stop now, you know. It's your story, you can share it when and how you want to, not just because Oghren provoked you."

She closed her eyes, briefly, but he couldn't tell if it was relief, disappointment, or something else entirely trying to overwhelm her. She gave his hand an extra squeeze and silently mouthed 'later' in his direction before opening her eyes back up and looking over at Oghren. "Good enough for ya, finally?"

Oghren sighed contentedly. "Good enough. Poor fella was so embarrassed he got beat by a little girl. No one knew her name, but one of his guards had apparently gotten tired of covering for the nug-humper and leaked the tale of some duster who showed him up, calling her Scabbler, as no one was gonna be able to put the idiot noble back together again after that. Shamed him horribly. Locked himself up at home to sulk, hide his face. Died a few months later. No one was sure if it was suicide, or if he'd tried something on the wrong someone and finally got taken out for his trouble. Best thing to ever happen to the girls of Orzammar, either way. Made the nobles happy, too, since no one knew where he'd hid his chest of secrets. And all thanks to Brosca here." He raised his drink in a toast to the other dwarf, but Ingva interrupted before he could gulp it down.

"How'd you figure out I was Scabbler?"

"Part o'the story. Scabbler was half a set, a pair of sisters Beraht had claimed. No one messed with them, or him, after she got away with smacking a noble down. Mebbe how Rica caught Bhelen's attention. Made her famous, too." He shrugged. "'Course no one said nothing to you or they'd have had to admit the Warden used to be a casteless." He finally managed to finish his drink, another belch echoing out after he was done. "Off to empty out some room 'fore I get a refill. Night, wenches." He staggered off behind a tree, the sound of his piss hitting the trunk faintly audible all the way back by the campfire.

Various muttered sounds of disgust spread through the group as they slowly shifted from their spots. Leliana simply nodded good-night, while Zevran bowed ostentatiously, grinning at Ingva as she chuckled slightly in reaction. Wynne patted her gently on the shoulder before she left.

Alistair stayed, letting go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close against his side.

"You all right, love?" He shifted slightly, speaking quietly right above her head where it rested against his side, below his chin. He pretended he didn't see her hand reach up and rub her nose, or hear the suppressed sniffle that followed.

"Sure. 'Course. Fine. Let's just go to bed. M'tired."

"As my lady commands." He grinned at her gasp as he scooped her up in his arms. "Stay, Scabbler," he ordered the mabari, and pushed Ingva into their tent, squirming in afterwards and tying it shut behind them. He heard the rustle and saw the shadow when the dog moved to settle across the opening with one short bark in protest, only mostly resigned to his new station outside his master's bed. _Which is not nearly big enough for three._

Sliding around on his knees, he saw Ingva hunched over in the middle of the tent as if her armor was suddenly too heavy for her, staring blankly down at the ground, the dim light of the campfire through the walls of the tent causing shadows to dance around her.

"Come on now, arms up," Alistair suggested softly, reaching out to undo her armor.

"Hmmm," she muttered, her arms shifting just a little as her gaze stayed blankly focused on the blanket beneath her.

Alistair heard himself softly babbling some nonsense about getting her comfortable as he worked, and how it was much too nice a night for all these layers, and did they want to buy some more blankets or pillows when they got to Denerim?

She didn't respond beyond a slight grunt of agreement to the last question, but she seemed to grow a bit less pale as he fussed, and as soon as he'd finished with his own armor she crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him with a sigh.

"Hmmm," he mumbled back, enveloping her in his own arms in response. "Much nicer without all those pokey metal bits in the way."

He was pleasantly surprised to hear her giggle. _There now, that's even better._

"Some pokey things are good, though, Alistair." As she lifted her head towards him, he saw her teeth flash in a quick grin right before she yanked his head down to hers for a kiss.

And her ponytail really did make an excellent handle.

**********

The campfire had dimmed down to coals, judging by how dark the shadows were in the tent. Alistair had heard Scabbler growl at some passing footsteps, so apparently the mabari had decided Ingva needed a night off from watch duty. _So I get the night off too, lucky me. Dog seems to think I should be helping Ingva. Will do my best._ The dog frequently gave the impression he was herding puppies through the Blight, and that the people's attempts to be in charge were simply a handy illusion he let them use to make themselves more comfortable with the situation.

"I can tell you're awake," Ingva's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Really?" Alistair asked equally softly. "How'd I give myself away?"

"Your hand usually stops stroking my breast once you're asleep."

"It does? Silly hand." The hand in question gave her breast a proper squeeze in an attempt to redeem itself, surprising a squeaky giggle out of the dwarf in reaction.

Shifting up on his elbow, Alistair let his hand slide down across Ingva's stomach as he spoke up again, more seriously this time. "Scabbler's worried about you, you know. And it is later."

"It is," Ingva agreed slowly. He couldn't really see her face in the dim light, but she sounded uncomfortable, so he dropped a soft kiss on her cheek for encouragement before settling back to wait through her silence.

"Hmm," she paused, and he felt her muscles tense a little under his hand. "Dunno where to start."

"Take your time and tell me whatever you want, love. I'm not going anywhere. No hurry. You broke your mother's hammer, and?"

"And his guards charged in."

"Guards?" Alistair's voice seemed very loud in the quiet tent, and he forced himself back down to a murmur as he asked again, "guards?"

"Yeah. Was a reason he got away with the belt purse, and just charging in wherever he wanted. Had good guards, hiding around Dust Town, and at least one right by to call for help if he heard something suspicious."

"Which he did, with the gurgling and the gasping and the falling to the ground?"

"Yeah." Ingva was quiet again. "Leske saved us, you know?"

Alistair closed his eyes in reaction to the pain in her voice. _Maker's Breath, why'd you have to turn on her, you stupid dwarf? She loved you. And now she hates herself, because you're dead._ He flexed the arm his head was propped on, remembering the crack as she'd accidentally broken it when he'd had to drag her away from Leske's body. _Should've known better than to startle her with her weapons still out. Lucky she didn't hit anything more vital than a bone Wynne could fix._

"How'd he save you, love?" Alistair felt his voice creak as he forced the words out, opening his eyes to the distressing sight of her rubbing her own eyes and nose.

"He got Beraht's men."

"Beraht helped against a noble?"

"Yeah. Interrupted the guards, paid 'em off, then pointed out to the gasping nug-shit on the ground how bad it'd look he needed help. 'Specially since he hadn't even gotten what he wanted in the first place." Alistair felt her shrug, as if she could hear and was responding to his silent surprise. "Rica was valuable. Nothin' better than getting himself up into a noble House. And nothin' worse than a noble getting into trouble in Dust Town. That'd be Bad for Business. Two nugs with one trap, getting the mess swept off the street. 'Sides, Oghren's right. Needing six guards to hurt the little duster girls who stood up to him was too embarrassing to let out."

"SIX?" That time Alistair didn't even attempt to suppress the yell, ignoring the dog's answering bark and a couple surprised grumbles from somewhere outside. "Andraste's Flaming _Sword_ ," he whispered, feeling the rage and panic from earlier sweep back at the thought, despite knowing she was obviously just fine, since she was here telling him the story.

"Well, took two of 'em to grab Rica. She was screamin' like a shriek, trying to claw her way over t'me. And then the other four surrounded me and my stick. Broken hammer handle. Thing. Didn't stand a chance."

"Four?" _That really isn't much better, love._ He couldn't handle the distance between them anymore, and struggled up into a sitting position, sweeping Ingva into his lap and yanking a blanket awkwardly around them both. "My poor Ingva. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why're you sorry?" Her voice was muffled, her head tucked down against his chest. "Leske got back before I had more than nasty bruises and a coupla cracked ribs. Not your fault Dust Town's, well, Dust Town."

He loosened his arms briefly to nudge her face up to look at him. "But I made you go back, and on top of all the many reasons you hated the place, he's dead now too."

She snorted. "Yeah, you're the one found an Archdemon and killed Commander Duncan, leavin' us the only Wardens around to call in the treaties. And then you snuck around Dust Town, 'cause you're so short and inconspicuous in Orzammar, and talked Leske into siding with Jarvia against me. All your fault. Idiot." Her voice caught slightly as her hand moved up to stroke his jaw, the gentle touch in direct contrast to her rough words.

Alistair's own hand reached over to smooth some of her loose strands of hair behind her ear. He barely resisted pretending surprise at his own inconvenient height. _Serious. I can be serious. This is important._ "You never got to mourn him, love. Had to leave him there for the guards."

Ingva sighed, her hand and eyes dropping from his face as she leaned against his chest again. "Every time you call me love, my heart aches. In a good way. Love you too. Only person I've ever met who'd apologize for somethin' that wasn't his fault, just cuz he was sorry I got hurt. Don't deserve you."

"Now you're the idiot." Alistair whispered back. "You deserve better than me. Not that I'm letting you go to try and find such a person." He hugged her a little tighter at the thought. "And you're changing the subject. Not that I'm complaining, what with the 'love you too' and thinking I'm awesome and all. Just observing. Want to help you. And I am sorry about your friend. I wish I could've saved him for you."

"Leske coulda saved his own stupid arse, if he'd wanted. He's the one told me to leave when Duncan offered. I always listened to him. I was his look-out ever since we started begging and stealing, even 'fore Beraht had us workin' for him." She shrugged, her voice melancholy, but no longer hard and bitter. "Stone-cursed idiot. No clue why he didn't think I'd still back him up, when I came back."

"Jealous, I'd guess. Know how he felt, a bit. I was jealous, when you first ran into him in Dust Town."

"What? Of me and Leske?" Ingva pulled back a little, apparently attempting to glare at him in the darkness. "Yuck. That'd be like snogging my brother, if I had one. That thought is worse than the vilest nug joke I ever heard at Tapsters."

"Well, I figured that out. But still, he knew you. Known you your whole life, knew where you came from, understood how you think. And you were so happy to see him, and Rica, and you have a connection with them I've never had with anyone."

"Then why didn't he trust me? Why'd he make me kill him? I keep thinkin' in my head I woulda done the same thing, sided w/Jarvia to stay alive, but I dunno 'bout that last step. I didn't wanna fight him."

"I don't think he wanted to fight either, love. He seemed sad, that last conversation you had." Alistair paused, one hand rubbing up and down Ingva's back as he tried to put a gut feeling into words for her. "He just didn't think he had a choice. When you left, became a Warden, you weren't his partner anymore. You had people following you, people who had your back, but not his. They even let you into the Diamond Quarter. You practically squealed in shock at that, yourself. And you'd had months on the surface to break you of your duster habits. He was still trapped in Dust Town. All he could see was that you weren't."

"And it's not worth fighting for anyone, 'specially if they're not a duster, cause they're just gonna use you up, without even giving you back to the Stone when they're done." Ingva's whispered phrase swung its way off her tongue as if she was repeating a well-learned lesson. Though one a bit grimmer than the history lessons Alistair had always failed to memorize.

"He'd never had Duncan show him there could be more than that."

"He never had someone like you," Ingva retorted, "who kept trying to rescue everyone, all the time, 'til he realized it wasn't a bad way to do things."

"You're the one who wandered into a war dog's pen right after I met you, just so the poor kennel master didn't have to put him down. Think you already wanted to rescue everyone, all on your own. Just needed the chance."

"Nah, was tryin' to prove to the crazy humans I was as tough as they were. Tougher even."

"No doubts on that. Definitely tougher. You've done so much for all of us, for me." He paused, grinning. "To me, even." He couldn't resist a slight tickle down her sides to her hips, pausing to listen to her snicker and enjoy her squirm across his lap. "Where was I? Right. You're amazing."

"Ha. All I've ever done is be too stupid to know when to quit. Or shut my mouth." Her hand moved back up to cover his mouth when it started to open to argue with her. "And we're just gonna have to disagree on this one."

"Whole camp would disagree with that one," he suggested as soon as her hand dropped. "Certainly not the same _way_ I'm planning on disagreeing with you," his hands found her bare bottom and squeezed, before lifting and moving her around so she could straddle his lap, "but they're all loyal to you. Not the Wardens or Ferelden as a whole, but you. Just you." He found her lips with his own and kissed her, gentle but thorough, taking his time, feeling her entire body relax against his. He pulled away just far enough to whisper against her lips, "always you."

"Still talkin' bout the whole camp, there, Alistair?" He could feel her lips curve into a grin as she whispered back.

"No," he answered simply. "Just us, you and me, together for as long as possible. Forever, Maker willing."

"Like that. And if the Ancestors let me into the Stone after I die, I'm dragging you with me. A little human company'll be good for 'em."

Alistair chuckled softly. "That was downright romantic, coming from you."

"Screw romance." She squirmed across his lap again, settling herself firmly above his hips. "Bet you can't make me yell so loud I wake the whole camp up."

"I adore a challenge."


End file.
